


Steadfast

by Legendgrass



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/F, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendgrass/pseuds/Legendgrass
Summary: Hanalea had to admit: when she walked into that tiny tavern in Lothering, the last thing she expected was to be rescued from a fight by a charming young woman in Chantry robes.As it turned out, it was the best thing that ever happened to her.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Hanalea had to admit: when she walked into that tiny tavern in Lothering, the last thing she expected was to be rescued from a fight by a charming young woman in Chantry robes.

As the dust was settling, said woman approached the Warden and her companions, barely even breathless from the altercation. “I apologize for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help,” she said as if expecting them to berate her for possibly saving their lives. Her smile was shy, but her eyes glimmered with something starkly different. It was slightly unnerving.

That wasn’t the only thing that failed to make sense. Hanalea eyed the woman’s Chantry robes, then the daggers still dripping blood from her hands, and struggled to make sense of the dichotomy. Surely one of those things was merely a ruse, and based on the display she’d just witnessed, it wasn’t the daggers. “Where on earth did a Chantry sister learn to fight like that?” she asked with more than a little suspicion. 

The woman laughed lightly, musically. “I was not born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more…colorful lives before we joined.” She sheathed her daggers someplace hidden and lifted a shoulder in a coy shrug.

Hana was at once wary and intrigued. _Colorful_ could mean any number of things, and some she did not want to find out. She supposed this girl must be trustworthy enough if she was willing to jump into a knife fight on a stranger’s behalf, though, so she said, “I should like to hear about that sometime.” And if the girl took it as a flirt, that wouldn’t be so awful, either.

The sister’s eyes crinkled at the corners and bright blue caught the firelight. “I would be happy to oblige, if you’ll let me come along.”

The Warden’s brows shot up. “Come along? With us?” That wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. She thought maybe they’d spend the evening at the tavern together; maybe the night, if she was lucky. Not that she’d end up recruiting this mysterious dagger-wielding Chantry girl into her doomed band of misfits. “Why?” she wondered. Surely she simply had no clue what she was getting into.

“You Grey Wardens will need all the help you can get against the darkspawn,” the sister said bluntly, but not unkindly. Then she dropped her eyes. “That, and…the Maker told me to.”

Hanalea was left a step behind. “I’m sorry, what?”

The woman sounded perhaps more defensive than she needed to be when she insisted, “I know it sounds completely insane, but it’s true! I had a dream—a vision.”

“Of me?” Hana cocked her head, half interested and half plain confused. Wasn’t the Maker…you know, out of the picture?

“Something like that.” The girl did her one-shoulder shrug again and offered absolutely no clarity.

Hana considered. “Well, I won’t turn down help when it’s offered, Sister,” she acquiesced finally, hesitantly, “as long as you don’t mind facing certain doom on a daily basis.”

“ _Certain_ doom?” the sister repeated with the beginnings of a playful grin. It was a very pretty grin, really. “We shall see about that.” Then she smoothed her robes down with both hands and offered one to Hanalea in formal greeting. It was still a little bloodstained. “I am Leliana.”

Hana took it firmly, heedless of the blood. Not like hers were any better. “Hanalea. A pleasure,” she returned, and she could honestly say that it was. The girl’s hand was lean and warm in hers, and her eyes were so very blue.

She was looking forward to getting to know this colorful Chantry sister better.

…


	2. Chapter 2

After a month on the road together, they certainly had gotten to know each other better. Leliana could safely say that the Warden was nothing like she’d expected. 

In that first sudden scuffle that had thrown them into one another’s paths, Hanalea Cousland had been a positive force of nature; all blazing eyes and bared teeth and flashing blade. She wore her armor as if she’d been born in it, and she wasn’t afraid to slit a few throats. Leliana had taken her for a natural warrior, coarse and driven and maybe a little bloodthirsty. And she was, perhaps. But she was also so much more.

As much as she liked to play the stonefaced, unwilling hero, Hanalea had proven herself capable of great softness. She always had time for the most inconsequential requests from the most unnotable people. She was always willing to dive headfirst into deadly situations when the lives of innocents were at stake. She always had a kind word for her companions back at camp, even if she disguised it beneath a heavy veil of sarcasm.

One of her more selfless habits, which no one had picked up on but Leliana, was to always take first watch. First watch was the hardest, Leliana thought, because after a long day of travel and combat and general looming anxiety, everyone wanted nothing more than to collapse into their bedrolls and lose themselves to the fragile security of unconsciousness. Nobody wanted to prolong their suffering by remaining awake for another several hours. Nobody but Hanalea. She bore that burden so that the others wouldn’t have to.

Leliana joined her, most nights—or she tried. In truth, most nights she ended up slouched against the Warden’s shoulder, coming to consciousness unaware of how the moon had grown so high in the sky and her neck had grown so stiff when _I only closed my eyes for a moment, I swear!_

Hanalea never woke her and never scolded her. She just wrapped her arm around the bard’s waist to ward off the cold when the night was especially frosty and she thought Leliana was deep in sleep. She wasn’t; not always, and the gesture tended to warm her inside just as much as outside.

She wanted to show Hanalea that she cared, too. She wanted to communicate how much she’d come to admire the Warden’s qualities and enjoy her company and…something else, maybe. She hadn’t dared stop to examine how deep her own feelings really went. It was still so _soon_ ; they’d only been traveling together for a few weeks. It was too soon for anything.

But Leliana didn’t want the Warden to go unappreciated, whiling away her nights in the loneliness of self-sacrifice, so she tried to be nice. Not in an awkward way, of course. In a perfectly normal and platonic and tactful way. In the natural flow of conversation. Artfully.

Startling out of a doze she didn’t know she’d slipped into, Leliana blurted the first thing to press to the forefront of her mind. “Have I ever told you I really like the way you wear your hair?”

“My hair?” Hanalea’s voice, a half-chuckle, was a little scratchy from disuse. Maker take it; how long had Leliana been asleep? She straightened up from where she’d apparently been resting on the Warden’s shoulder again and met that humorous storm-blue gaze. A tired grin was pulling at Hana’s lips. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

Leliana was tired, too. That must be why it took her so long to tear her eyes away from said lips. And why she rambled so much when she continued, in too deep to back out now, “It’s very nice. And it suits you. Simple; not like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlais, full of flowers and feathers and…” She bit her lip. Some bard she was! Trust her to lose her grasp of what basic human interaction looked like as soon as it became important.

Hana’s eyes sparkled as if she could read her thoughts—all of them. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her smile spreading wider—and proving _that_ much more distracting.

Leliana dropped her forehead into her palm, feeling her neck flush. “I was trying to say something nice to you. Forgive me—my mind wanders so…” _when I’m with you._ No, that wouldn’t do at all. She needed a better excuse. “It’s just that I—I feel so comfortable talking to you. Like I could say anything and you wouldn’t judge me.” Leliana twisted her hands together in her lap and hoped that the Warden would not discern her heart so easily. It would be awfully embarrassing if Hanalea figured out what Leliana was feeling before Leliana did.

“How do you know I’m not just judging you silently?” the Warden returned, nudging the bard teasingly in the ribs.

Leliana huffed a sigh and pretended to be more irritated than she really was. “Must you always ruin the moment?”

Hanalea winked. “It’s what I’m best at.”

Leliana felt her cheeks heat at that little gesture. It was shocking, really, how easily the Warden could cut right through the layers of defenses she had erected around her heart since Marjolaine. She’d thought that being a bard had hardened her. She’d thought everything she’d endured might have toughened her against such petty, simple feelings as a _crush._ But here she was, blushing like a—well, like a _real_ Chantry sister—at the slightest provocation from this woman. She wasn’t sure if it scared her or freed her. She supposed it might offer a bit of insight to admit, “I really do enjoy your company, Hanalea. I haven’t felt this close to someone in a long time,” and judge the way her heart climbed into her throat in anticipation of the Warden’s response. Yes; terrifying. But in a good way?

“You don’t often fall asleep on other people while you’re supposed to be on watch?” Hanalea deflected, as usual. Leliana supposed she should have guessed that she wouldn’t make this easy. At least, not plainly. Maybe her stormy blue eyes were sparkling a little brighter, though. Or maybe Leliana was just dreaming it up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed through a fond smile, “but, no. Just you.” Leliana decided to step just a bit closer to the edge, hoping she might find a better view of her hidden feelings that way. She leaned her head against the Warden’s shoulder again, carefully. When Hanalea didn’t protest, a little knot of tension in her chest released. It gave her the courage to say, “I always know that when I wake, you will still be watchful beside me. Looking out for me.”

“Always,” Hanalea whispered as her arm came up to encircle Leliana’s waist. She’d never done that while they were both fully awake before. The bard, holding her breath, found that she much preferred it this way. A long, warm pause hung between them before the inevitable quip came: “The dog would be upset if I let you die on my watch.”

Leliana giggled, but she was far from fooled. “The dog, hm?”

“You know how he is,” Hanalea affirmed. 

It wasn’t the dog, though, who was pressed up against Leliana’s side in the dark of the night, arm secure around her, sharing warmth through an ever-present layer of armor. It was her dear Warden, Hanalea Cousland, both flaming force of nature and compassionate servant of the people. Her Warden, who unfailingly had her back whether they were in the midst of a battle or the midst of first watch. Her Warden, who meant more to her with each passing day.

Leliana leaned gladly into her and hoped dearly that it was not a mistake to let her heart be softened so.

…


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, Leliana was not the only one whose heart was softer than she’d like.

Hanalea had not intended to end up here tonight, curled on her side in her tent, facing away from the flap so that if anyone entered they would not witness her tears.

She could clearly remember the last time she’d cried. It had been on her way out of Highever Castle, while Duncan led her farther and farther away from her beloved family and closer and closer to a lonely, uncertain fate. She regretted that day; hated the thought of it. Every part of it. 

And the bloody Guardian of the Sacred Ashes had brought all of her regret and grief and undealt-with emotion boiling to the surface with the force of a tidal wave. How could he have known exactly what to say to cut her so deep? What  _ was  _ he? What business did he have unearthing her buried emotions right in front of all her companions?

She’d nearly broken down on the spot, right there on the stones of the temple floor, but held herself together long enough to get through. Long enough to make it back to camp, but no longer.

Now she was choking back sobs in a futile attempt to keep silent; to keep from bothering her companions. Surely they had their own emotions to work through, too. Although she didn’t hear any of  _ them  _ crying rivers in their tents. She curled herself into as tight a ball as her underarmor would allow and buried her face in her knees, hoping that would muffle her misery.

Somehow, Leliana still heard her. Or maybe she  _ felt  _ her; Hana had no idea, but one way or another the bard came ducking tentatively into her tent not a moment later. The Warden hoped the darkness would shield her state from prying blue eyes. She supposed it was a futile hope, the way Leliana lingered in the entrance, waiting for her eyes to adjust. That and the way she couldn’t quite hold back a wet sniffle, which instantly gave her away.

Leliana spoke gently into the quiet: “Are you all right?”

Hanalea considered giving a bald-faced lie, or telling her flat out to go away, but truthfully, she didn’t want her to. She was bone-tired of being alone with her emotions. Maybe talking about it would help. Maybe Leliana would help.

The Warden loosened from her ball of misery and let out a shuddering sigh along with the truth: “…Not really.”

Leliana seemed to take that as an invitation to remain, and Hana didn’t stop her as she tied the tent flap shut behind her and crawled to her rucksack in the corner, where she withdrew a candle. She waited to speak until she had lit it and placed it on the dirt nearby. “Is this about the Guardian?” she asked gently, moving to settle cross-legged by Hana’s shoulder.

“What else?” the Warden grumbled bad-naturedly. She had always been bad at being vulnerable. Even now, her instinct was to resist.

Leliana would have none of it. Her hand came to rest against Hana’s shoulder comfortingly, and she offered, “I’m here for you, if you want to talk about it.”

It took a long, long moment for Hana to take her up on that. But once she felt like she’d steadied her breathing enough to avoid speaking in sobs; once she’d acclimated to the unmoving warmth of her friend behind her, she managed to begin, “I’m…eaten up inside.” Instantly her throat closed up again, and she mentally cursed at just how  _ stupid  _ emotions were. She was a warrior, for the Maker’s sake! Surely she could keep from bursting into tears every other second. She took a shaky, frustrated breath and let it back out with the admission, “…by the thought that I should have done more.”

Leliana knew what she meant without asking. She’d been there at the temple, after all. She’d heard every word. Her hand began to move against Hana’s arm, rubbing soothingly up and down. “Would it be better,” she asked, and there was a hint of hoarseness in her voice, too, “if you had died too?”

Hanalea truly did feel slightly reassured by the bard’s touch. She let herself roll onto her back so she could look up at those bright blue eyes in the candlelight. It no longer seemed terribly important that she hide her red-splotched cheeks and moist eyes from Leliana. “I imagine I might feel a lot better,” she answered, barely joking.

“I imagine you wouldn’t feel much at all,” Leliana returned. Her other hand came up to begin threading through the Warden’s honey-colored hair.

Something about the attention reminded Hana suddenly and violently of her mother, and the tears started up anew. She didn’t try to stop them this time. “I left them behind,” she lamented for the thousandth time, chest convulsing with fresh sobs. How could she have done that? How could she have allowed them to convince her otherwise? They’d have stayed behind for her if she were the one injured. They would have given their lives for her without blinking. But she—she just—

“It was their choice to make,” Leliana reasoned softly.

And she  _ knew  _ that; she  _ did,  _ but— “What if I could have saved them?”

“Do you think you could have? Truly?”

Hana let out a long, trembling sigh as that question sank in. “…No.”

“Then you must make peace with that, Hanalea.” Leliana sounded as if that suggestion was just as painful; just as difficult for her as it was for the Warden.

“Easier said than done,” Hana sighed.

“I know.” Leliana switched her grip to tug Hanalea closer and shuffled forward so the Warden’s head and shoulders lay across her lap. Hana melted into the softness and security the change provided. If she’d known being vulnerable could feel this nice in the end, she might have tried it sooner. Leliana wrapped her arms around the Warden’s upper chest and continued, “but you are not alone. And you are not finished.” She looked down so their eyes met, upside-down. “I believe your family would be proud of who you are. Who you have become.”

Hana rested her hands over Leliana’s forearms where they lay across her body. The shared warmth dried the remnants of her tears; filled her with a kind of peace that made her wounds hurt less, for now; allowed her to drift toward sleep instead of sorrow. “Thank you,” she breathed, and felt like that wasn’t quite enough.

But Leliana seemed to understand. She leaned down and feathered a kiss over the Warden’s forehead. “Of course.”

Hana shivered under the touch, but she felt far too drained, physically and emotionally, to respond. She settled instead for simply enjoying what comfort she could right now, and Leliana was generous with it. The Warden had no clue how she was going to repay her for this. She’d worry about that later, though. Right now she was content to drift; to let the touch of Leliana’s fingers combing through her hair again drown out all else.

She thought she might have heard the bard singing softly to her as she was swallowed by sleep.

Or maybe she just dreamed it, but even so, it was a lovely dream.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t long before the tables turned again and Leliana was the one curled by the fire, eyes distant, mind all a-stew. They’d just returned from Marjolaine’s house in Denerim. Needless to say, she had a lot to think about. Or, rather, _not_ think about, as was her current strategy. She was trying to stare so deep into the flames that they might burn away all of the thoughts and emotions and insecurities that the sight of Marjolaine had stirred up.

It didn’t work. It was all Leliana could do to keep from having a meltdown right there in the middle of camp. She’d never realized that her past had sunk its teeth so deep into her. Now, it seemed like she was permanently locked in its jaws. Would assassins become part of her daily routine now? For the thousandth time she wished they had killed Marjolaine when they had the chance. Then, for the thousandth time, she hated herself for that thought.

For better or worse, the Warden appeared by her side at just that moment. The warrior plopped down on the overturned log beside her, and even without looking Leliana could tell those stormy blue eyes were studying her face. She felt torn between meeting that scrutinizing gaze or remaining safe in the consuming sight of the fire. She wasn’t _afraid_ of what Hanalea might say, but she was certainly…uncertain. 

Conversation became inevitable when the Warden reached out with a gentle, “Leli?”

Leliana tried not to panic. As steadying as her Warden’s presence was, it also had the potential to become all too intense. She turned her head and left the monotony of the fire behind. She found a look of concern on Hana’s face and tried to assuage it with a smile, but it came out shaky. “Hello,” she hardly more than croaked. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Leli.” Hanalea gave her a look both hard and tender. “How about that little trip through hell you just took?” She reached out to lay her hand on the bard’s arm, light enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. “I want to be sure you’re all right.”

The Warden’s touch always made her a little shaky, but right now Leliana felt close to tears. It took all of her bard’s training to keep her emotions in check and off her face. “I just—” she began, but faltered and had to try again. “I can’t get what happened out of my head. I’ve been in Lothering for years and Marjolaine still thought I was plotting against her.” She found her gaze retreating back to the fire as her mind slid back into old memories; new wounds. “She didn’t trust me. Maybe she never did.” She shook her head regretfully. She supposed she was disappointed, but not surprised. Her old mentor was a master manipulator, after all. Why should she have expected anything less? “She loved me when she could use me and control me, and now that she can’t, she wants me dead. I suppose it…hurts to realize that I never really knew her.”

As pressing and painful as her realization was, Hanalea’s touch as it tightened her arm was so solid and real and _present_ that it helped to ground her. “Is there anything I can do?” the Warden asked, and her voice was as gentle as Leliana had ever heard it.

The bard let out a shuddering sigh and leaned against Hana’s shoulder. Her warmth was more soothing than the fire’s. “You are already helping so much by listening to me,” she murmured. Her thoughts were still caught in the thicket of thorns Marjolaine had cultivated. “I knew she was ruthless, but I didn’t know how far she could go. She is self-serving—cruel. She uses people, then discards them, but that is how she survives in the life she leads.” She wrapped her arms around herself, painfully insecure. “What if she’s right? What if we’re the same?” She’d never felt quite so lost before. Maybe… “I…I should just have stayed in the Chantry.”

Hanalea shifted her hold from Leliana’s arm to her waist, securing her to her side. “Do you think that would have made it better?” she asked softly.

“I felt safe there. I didn’t have to watch my back all the time.” Even as Leliana said it, part of her mind revolted; she’d _felt_ safe there, but she hadn’t heen; not really.. The truth was, she never would be. Not with people like Marjolaine around. “That’s what made Marjolaine the woman she is; don’t you see? It ruined her, and the same thing is happening to me. Even now, I regret not ending her life when we had the chance. Now I will never be free of her.” Leliana gripped her own biceps tightly as if to hold the crumbling pieces of herself together. Hanalea felt it and pulled her closer. The bard took the opportunity to hide her face against the Warden’s shoulder, almost afraid to admit what was bothering her most; what dug like a thorn into her heart and smarted every time she moved. It was easier when she couldn’t see Hanalea’s reaction; at the horror and disgust that would undoubtedly take hold. 

“What we’re doing,” she began tentatively, “What we’ve done: hunted men down; killed them…” She swallowed and shifted. It wasn’t too late to redirect this conversation. Would Hanalea understand? Would she still be so accepting once she knew? Leliana reluctantly reasoned that at the very least she deserved a choice in the matter. She ought to know. That didn’t make it any easier for her to reveal on a shaky exhale, “Part of me loves it. It invigorates me.” There. The hardest part was out. She went on quickly; damage control: “It scares me. I…I feel myself slipping.”

But Hanalea didn’t push her away in disgust. She didn’t scoff and declare how Leliana was no better than a bloodthirsty beast, or stand up off the log and turn her back on her friend, never to trust her again. Instead she pulled away just enough to face Leliana and swiped a hand comfortingly over her cheek.

“Leliana,” she said, voice matching the tenderness of her touch. Leliana forced herself to raise her eyes and meet the Warden’s. They were steadfast as ever; understanding. Leliana barely resisted letting out a sigh of relief. The warrior continued, “I know exactly what you mean. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of battle; of victory. Enjoying that doesn’t make you a bad person.” She tucked a lock of hair behind the bard’s ear and offered a hint of a smile. “It’s just who you are. And I will never judge you for that.”

Leliana’s back straightened as if a weight had physically lifted off her shoulders. She was so thankful Hanalea understood. Now that she thought about it, why wouldn’t she? _Let’s see some blood!_ was part of the Warden’s very regular vocabulary, after all. Leliana leaned into her touch gladly and said, “I admit, I took great pleasure in the intrigue back in Orlais. It was dangerous, and chaotic, and exciting…but it destroyed my life.” She shook her head, remembering. “The Chantry showed me another path; one of peace and security. But…”

“But you never really belonged there,” Hana finished knowingly.

Leliana nodded. The Warden’s hand dropped to her lap, and the bard reached out to clasp it in her own. She wondered when they had become comfortable enough in each other for this: touching almost thoughtlessly for support. She would not go back for anything. “There is this thought that floats into my mind constantly: that I lie when I say that the Chantry gave me peace when in truth, it…it bored me,” Leliana confessed. She dropped her eyes. As effortless as she and Hana were together, it still made her blush to admit, “Here, with you, knowing the freedom of the road and the uncertainty of tomorrow, I feel alive again.”

The Warden’s fingers slipped carefully between hers to intertwine their hands. “Don’t you think that means this is where you belong?” the warrior asked, expression open and raw. Hopeful.

“I think…” At once Leliana felt the urge to both laugh and throw up. There was too much going on inside her. Her whole world was shifting; the only solid spot on the horizon was Hanalea. But…was that so bad? She shook her head, at a loss. “I don’t know what I think. I am just so overwhelmed by all that has happened; all that I feel.”

“You have time to figure it out,” the Warden assured. Then she squeezed her hand comfortingly. “And I will support you no matter what path you choose.”

The laugh won out; Leliana let out a relieved giggle and a hint of a grin and squeezed back. “That…means more than you know, Hana,” she said, and meant it. Looking into her Warden’s eyes now she realized just how close they were; how beautiful she was; how much she wanted to lean in and kiss her on those lips that knew just what to say. Hanalea smiled like she could read her thoughts, and the archer blushed. “Thank you.”

Stormy blue eyes softened; a calloused hand tightened on her own. “Always,” her Warden promised.

…


	5. Chapter 5

Their peace didn’t last.

“Hana!” Leliana skidded to her knees beside her fallen companion, eyes flitting frantically over her form to assess the damage—and there was a  _ lot  _ of it. The darkspawn’s blade had caught her in the back while she wasn’t looking; slipped between the plates of her armor and come out the other side and Leliana had seen the whole thing but acted too late; it didn’t matter that the hurlock had an arrow through its eye now; there was just  _ so much blood.  _ “Hold on. Hold on,” she pleaded over and over like a mantra as she pressed her hands over the gushing wound and felt the blood continue to seep between her fingers. “Oh, Maker—” Her efforts were doing nothing. The blade had been ragged and twisted and the hole was, too; so mangled that the flow didn’t just come from one place. Leliana could see the dark red puddle spreading beneath her Warden’s back and her throat constricted with panic. “ _ Wynne! _ ” she shrieked over her shoulder and didn’t recognize her own voice. Hana’s face was paling and her eyes were losing focus and all Leliana could think was  _ no. no. no.  _ She pressed her hands down harder and winced at the Warden’s hoarse cry of pain. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, strangled. “I’m so sorry, Hana. Please hold on. Please.” A glance over her shoulder told her that Wynne was still fighting off the remainder of the darkspawn pack along with Shale, their attention in an iron grip. If Wynne spared a moment to try to heal Hanalea, they might be overwhelmed. But if she didn’t—

Leliana almost threw up from the pressure of indecision. She had to save Hana. She  _ had  _ to. And that meant covering Wynne while she performed her healing magic. It also meant leaving her Warden’s side in what could easily become her final moments. 

She had no choice.

“Wynne!” she screamed again and this time there were tears blurring her vision; blocking out the sight of the old mage. She reached for the bow she’d dropped by Hana’s side, prepared to buy them as much precious time as she could.

The Warden caught her hand. Her grip was weak, tenuous, but froze the bard in her tracks.

“I must protect Wynne,” she reasoned desperately. She wasn’t even sure Hanalea could understand her; her stormy eyes looked far away.

“Don’t,” came the Warden’s choked response. Her eyelids fluttered and her chest convulsed briefly and her grip on Leliana’s hand tightened. She was in so much pain. “Don’t go.”

“I must,” Leliana insisted through her streaming tears. “She can save you, but only if I go.”

The Warden took a sharp breath and it rattled, wet, in her chest. Her eyes opened and locked on the archer’s desperately. “Leli, I—”

“No. No.” Leliana cut her off. “You’re going to be all right.” She would not let her do this. This was not goodbye. 

“Leli—” Hanalea’s voice rose to pleading, and there were tears in her eyes too, trailing down to join the flow of blood that now leaked from her mouth, and Leliana felt her heart stop for a full beat.

This  _ was  _ goodbye, she realized with cold, harsh, sudden clarity. She was going to lose her Warden. She was going to watch her die, helpless to stop it. She was going to feel her blood on her hands for the rest of her life, which would likely prove short as well, and pointless; devoid of color. She was going to lose Hanalea forever.

“I love you,” she blurted suddenly, frantically. It wouldn’t change a thing, and it wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but if this was her last moment with her treasured companion, she had to let her know. She had to at least give her that small comfort as she slipped away: she was loved. There had to be worse parting words, Leliana was sure.

It took her a breathless moment to realize that Hanalea had said the very same thing, much softer; much weaker, but just as raw. 

_ I love you. _

The whole world as good as fell out from under her feet. Her ears began to ring, and time seemed to lift away from her; to leave her outside its grip.

She did not comprehend how, after that, dozens of arrows sprouted from every last darkspawn keeping her Warden from Wynne’s saving touch. She did not sense it when the mage ran to her side, replacing her hands on Hana’s body with her own, filling her with restoring green magic. She was not there to see her Warden hauled back from the edge of death by the very thinnest possible thread; only the overwhelming relief afterward, when Hanalea was in her arms, warm and whole and _ alive,  _ and—and—

And in love?

…


	6. Chapter 6

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t dare go back to that raw, bloody moment where both of them were convinced they were in the midst of their final conversation. Hanalea feared that was the only reason Leliana had confessed: because she thought she’d never get another chance. She never brought it up because Leliana never brought it up, and certainly she would have if it was more than a last-ditch effort to shock the Warden into living. Right?

She didn’t want to bring it up and bare herself to the threat of disappointment. She knew how _she_ felt, but her bard was another matter entirely. Hana could never really tell what was going on behind those pretty blue eyes of hers. What had she seen? What had she known? What did she want? She seemed receptive enough to Hana’s flirts, but she was _trained_ in the art of manipulation. It could easily be an act. More easily than the alternative, anyway.

Hana never brought it up, and now, moldering in the dungeon of Fort Drakon with naught for company but Alistair’s unconscious body, she regretted it.

She curled miserably against the damp brick of the wall, trying to trap some semblance of heat between her bare knees and her almost-bare chest and simultaneously keep her battered back from scraping the stones. Needless to say, it was a futile effort. She glared at Alistair’s unmarked form where he lay. _He_ didn’t get a visit to the torture chamber just for the hell of it; evidently Howe’s goons wanted him awake for the experience, and he hadn’t stirred since they’d been dragged in here by their ankles by Ser Cauthrien. That might be cause for concern, but right now Hanalea felt only resentment. He was probably faking it just to avoid the inevitable beating. 

She let her head drop back against the wall and her eyes slip closed. She should probably try to find a way to bust out of here sooner or later, but her lack of clothes, multitude of bruises, and Alistair were major deterrents. She supposed that was the point. She could do nothing yet but wait, and she hated it.

Maybe Leliana would come.

Maybe her bard would save her.

Maybe all she had to do was wait a little bit longer.

She held onto that tenuous hope even as half a day passed and her only visitors were the Arl’s men, come to drag her back to torture. Even as day slipped into night and she still suffered no company but the wounds up and down her back; her arms; her face. Even as Alistair failed to stir and she realized by the knot on the back of his skull that he might not on his own. Even as she weakened, minute by minute, from lack of sustenance.

It must have been the second day when finally Hana slipped into a painful, fitful sleep, and along with consciousness went her hope.

She had no idea how long she’d been out when she jerked awake at an unexpected sound. It was a voice, softer than the others that had come banging at her mind’s door during her stay. This one wasn’t angry or cruel. This one wasn’t so loud and rough it bounced down the hallway ahead of its source, warning her of the abuse to come. This one was familiar.

“There you are,” it said just outside her cell door, heavy with relief.

Hanalea hadn’t even fully awakened before she blurted in blind hope, “Leliana?”

“Yes.” The bard’s voice trembled with some emotion the Warden couldn’t hope to identify in her state. “Yes, I’m here. And Wynne, too." An arm reached through the bars near Hanalea and she nearly lunged for it in her desperation to feel a friendly touch. As soon as they made contact, Leliana’s hand ran over the side of her face; her bare shoulder; her arm, searching for wounds. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Her voice was strained; surely she could feel the answer already.

“No worse than usual,” Hana assured weakly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was no stranger to cuts and bruises. They were usually just…fewer and farther between. Because usually she had clothes on when she got them. Or a chance to defend herself.

Leliana’s hand withdrew and the rattle of her lockpicking tools met Hana’s ears. “Hold on. I’m going to free you,” she said firmly, and Hana thought she’d never heard a more beautiful sentence.

“Thank the Maker,” she covered her crushing relief with a joke so Leliana wouldn’t realize how close she’d been to losing hope completely. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come. Did you hold a twelve-course banquet while we were gone?”

The lock clicked as it gave and the cell door swung open to admit Leliana and Wynne. The mage went straight to Alistair’s motionless side, and Leliana crossed to the Warden. Hana had to exercise all of her restraint to keep from kissing the bard desperately on the mouth and instead stood unsteadily while Leliana went to work unlocking the manacles around her wrists. “This may shock you, but we did have to come up with a _plan_ before making our merry way into the heavily guarded military fort,” the redhead said, and it sounded a little too tense to be teasing. It was then that Hanalea realized their time apart might have been as torturous for Leliana as it had been for her. In a different way, to be sure, but torture all the same.

As soon as Hana’s hands were free, she wrapped her savior in a sudden embrace, overcome with the relief of being near her again. Pressed chest to chest, she spoke roughly against the bard’s hair: “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Leliana’s breath hitched. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she returned, holding her just as tight. 

Hanalea positively melted into her grip. She’d feared she might never feel this sort of warmth again, or even lay eyes on any of her friends again. She wouldn’t have, if Arl Howe had his way. Leliana’s touch felt like a breath of oxygen into starving lungs.

But as nice as it was, it also made it very clear very quickly that Hanalea was underdressed for the occasion. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d intended to embrace Leliana in her smalls for the first time. “Um,” she cleared her throat and fought down a blush as she reluctantly stepped back. “Clothes?”

Leliana’s expression pinched into something half apologetic and half wicked. “I’m afraid the guards would have grown suspicious of me had I brought any along,” she said with a coy shrug. “Looks like you’ll have to trot along in your unmentionables until we recover your things.”

Hanalea flattened her lips into an unamused line. “Right. I suppose I’ll have to trust you to keep me from dying until then?”

Leliana gave her a little smile that almost reached her eyes. “As usual, no?” Hana opened her mouth to offer an indignant retort, but the bard had taken her by the hand and begun to tug her toward the doorway before she got the chance. Leliana’s voice dropped low and tight as they entered the hall, back into the path of danger. Wynne and a freshly-wakened Alistair trailed behind. “Come. We don’t have much time.”

Hana followed, as she always would.

…


	7. Chapter 7

After their dramatic prison break; after the _second_ heart-stopping threat of never seeing one another again had passed, there was no putting off discussing their feelings for each other.

It was easier than Leliana had expected. There was less actual talking than she’d feared and decidedly more kissing. They hadn’t stayed outside by the campfire for long. Instead they’d retired to Hana’s tent, where (“ _no, Wynne, we were not doing anything unseemly”)_ they could finally enjoy each other’s presence in the freedom of knowing where they stood. If that involved a generous helping of more kissing, well, Leliana was not averse to it.

They were in Hana’s bedroll at the moment ( _“yes, Wynne, fully clothed”_ —except for Hanalea’s shirt, maybe. It had been an utter shock to Leliana that she’d been able to coax her out of her underarmor), the Warden half-atop the bard, and Leliana didn’t feel the slightest bit trapped by the position; only safe. She had her arms wrapped around Hana’s bare waist, fingers exploring the map of scars along the planes of her back. Somehow after thirty minutes of this, the motion of their mouths together had still not grown boring. In fact, Leliana felt positively addicted.

She was more than a little disgruntled when Hanalea pulled away for more than the usual split second required to breathe. She was less so when the Warden said,

“Hey. I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”

Leliana breathed hard and deep in the absence of her lips. Her hands slid down to massage the Warden’s biceps as she relaxed back against the bedroll. “Oh?” she questioned, trying to downplay her excitement. “What’s the occasion?”

Hana smiled down at her and Leliana staunchly resisted the urge to just keep kissing her. “Does there have to be an occasion?”

The bard hummed her doubt. “In my experience, gifts usually accompany either a holiday or a request for a favor.” Her experiences hadn’t actually involved genuine caring relationships, apparently, but she was still set in her ways. “Shall I ask which this is?”

“It’s because I love you. That’s all,” Hana said, dropping her voice along with her eyelids. 

Combined with the brush of her thumb over the bard’s cheek, the gesture had Leliana flushing from head to toe. This kind of tenderness, along with that simple little phrase, still tended to knock the wind out of her. It was still so fresh; so new; so shocking. So wonderful. She wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world. All she could manage was a tiny, “Oh.”

Hana gave a light little laugh as she rolled over to reach for her rucksack. Leliana watched her unabashedly as she dug around in the bag for whatever the surprise was, hypnotized by the ripple of the muscles in her shoulders. It still didn’t feel real that she could touch those muscles whenever she wanted, now; that she was allowed to act on her feelings instead of smashing them deep down inside her. It didn’t feel real that she was allowed to _have_ rather than just _want._ And to have this beautiful, selfless, strong Warden, no less. She realized abruptly that the words _I love you_ would never really be able to express the depth of what she truly felt.

Hanalea rolled back over to face her, and the almost embarrassed hopefulness in her eyes would have been gift enough for Leliana, but she had something cradled in her hand, too. Leliana reached over to gently uncurl her fingers, exposing the object resting in the middle of her palm. 

A gemstone. An amethyst, if she was not mistaken. Her heart both clenched and soared with affection. “ _Oh,_ this is lovely!” she cried upon laying eyes on it. She plucked it from Hanalea’s hand to hold it up to the light. It truly was beautiful; bright and clear and unblemished. She still would have loved it had it been the ugliest rock on the planet, but it really was a nice gift. Leliana turned her smile on her generous Warden. “Thank you so much.”

Hanalea’s cheeks might have reddened slightly. “It reminded me of your eyes,” she admitted hesitantly, as if wondering if that might be too much for their fledgling relationship.

Leliana did not think so at all. But she looked incredulously back and forth between the violet gem and her dear Warden, wondering if perhaps she ought to see a healer. “…my eyes?”

Hana’s blush deepened. “I mean—I know your eyes aren’t purple,” she was quick to assure, “but—” She reached up and enclosed Leliana’s hand with the gemstone in her own so they were holding it together. It sparkled in the candlelight. “They catch the light the same way. Beautifully.” She turned her gaze back to the bard, and Leliana nearly wilted beneath the heat of her look.

“Flatterer,” she could barely manage to breathe out.

Hana grinned crookedly like she knew the effect she was having. “It’s true,” she murmured, guiding Leliana’s hand to her chest so the gem was cradled between their bodies. Then she leaned down for a slow kiss, and Leliana almost dropped it.

“You spoil me, my dear Warden,” she said through her own smile as they pulled apart.

“As intended,” Hana whispered against her lips. Another kiss, and then, “I love you, Leliana.”

Leliana closed her eyes and let those words, these feelings, wash over her like an ocean wave. She would not have traded this moment for anything. It still didn’t feel real. 

“I love you, too,” she breathed in reply, not for the first time and not for the last, before they lost themselves in each other again.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I skipped the confession conversation, but it's just so...awkward


	8. Chapter 8

Two people facing certain doom did not have time to take things slow.

They transitioned quickly to the sort of activities Wynne would violently disapprove of. Right now, for instance, they were tangled in Hanalea’s bedroll together, their closeness the only barrier against the cold atmosphere. Leliana was on top with a handful of the Warden’s chest and a mouthful of her tongue and it was a wonder the old mage hadn’t marched right up to their tent flap and begun lecturing them through the canvas, because they weren’t exactly being subtle about it.

Hanalea arched into her bard’s delicate grip and tightened her own hold on the other woman’s thighs, pressing their bodies together. They hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet and she was flushed all over and falling apart. “You’re good at this,” she gasped out during one of the brief moments the redhead allowed her to breathe. “Had a lot of practice?”

Leliana dragged a lingering kiss down her throat before drawing back enough to meet her gaze. Her bright blue eyes were heavy-lidded over a smirk and Hana nearly forgot what she’d said entirely. “Would you be jealous?” the bard purred, running a finger down the Warden’s sternum.

“Yes,” Hanalea answered with complete sincerity. She already regretted speaking; all she wanted was Leliana’s mouth back on hers.

Based on the look that came over her face, the archer wasn’t going to give her an easy time of it. “How interesting, considering your recent stunt at the Pearl,” she snipped with a bite to the Warden’s shoulder that landed far from gentle.

Hana yelped and fisted her hand in the bard’s hair to tug her away. “Hey! That was—”

“Different?” Leliana guessed, brows arched incredulously. She straightened up so she was straddling the Warden’s hips, looking down on her in every sense of the term. Was she…upset? “How?”

Hana spluttered for an answer. “I was compensating!” she protested. Were they really talking about this now? They hadn’t even been together the last time Hana visited the Pearl! She’d thought that Leliana hadn’t cared much, or if she had, that it was firmly behind them by now. Considering the ice in the bard’s eyes, she supposed she’d thought wrong. She let her hands fall to her sides in surrender; her voice weaken. “I didn’t think I was ever going to get what I actually wanted.”

“What you…” Leliana’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “Are you saying—?”

Hana gave her a fond, sheepish smile. Yes, of course she was saying that she’d liked Leliana even back then. Of course she was saying that she’d figured she never had a chance with the lovely bard, and she’d dealt with it the best she knew how. How could she be faulted for that? “You’re surprised?” she wondered.

Leliana let out a tiny scoff. Her cheeks were flushing. “Well, yes. I—we’d hardly known each other then.”

“Leli,” Hanalea said in an almost reproachful tone. “You’re kind, and sharp, and beautiful, and talented,” She picked up one of Leliana’s hands in both her own and studied it, “and your hands! Maker, I’m a big fan of your hands.” She pressed a kiss to that palm through a mischievous smile, but her eyes were earnest. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

“Oh.” Leliana’s cheeks were close to matching her hair. Hanalea couldn’t grasp why the bard was totally comfortable with kissing nude in her bedroll, but a few compliments got her all flustered. She sort of loved it, though. “Well, I think you’re rather charming yourself,” Leliana returned with a bashful smile of her own.

“You’re not just in it for the tale, then?” Hana teased, wiggling her hips beneath the other woman. “I’m sure not many girls have had the privilege of bedding a Warden.”

Leliana rolled her eyes hard. “You are so full of yourself!”

“Mhmm.” The Warden couldn’t resist: she bit her lip suggestively, raised her eyebrows, and slid her hand way up the bard’s thigh. “How would you like to be full of me, too?”

“That was terrible.” Leliana hid her face in her hands, but her flaming cheeks were still visible through her fingers.

“You’re blushing.”

“Your hand is on my—!”

“Shh!” Hanalea’s free hand flew up to clap over Leli’s mouth, earning an instant glare. “You want Wynne to hear us and come trying to interrupt?”

“Mh,” was Leliana’s only response, understandably. That, and sucking Hana’s first two fingers into her mouth to bite down reproachfully.

The Warden made a very undignified noise and pretended that it was out of protest rather than the sudden and intense shot of arousal that the gesture sent through her. “Hey, that’s my shield hand!” she cried. “Don’t tear it up, or I won’t be able to protect your pretty arse in battle.”

“I can take care of myself.” Leliana pouted, but released her. 

Hana wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment. “I’m well aware,” she assured, her voice going low as her hands trailed up the archer’s sides. She was tired of all this conversation; it was time for them to get back to more exciting things. “But let me take care of you this once, my love.”

Leliana’s breath audibly hitched. She seemed absolutely willing to consent to that, if the way she lowered herself to her elbows over the Warden and brought their lips together again was any evidence. Hanalea hiked her knee up for the other woman’s benefit and buried her hands in flaming hair and forgot that she’d ever been with anyone besides Leliana.

She preferred it that way. They both did.

…


	9. Chapter 9

Doom came a lot sooner than either of them expected.

Hanalea was trudging back to her room in Redcliffe Castle, heart and shoulders heavy with the damning truth Riordan had just revealed to her and Alistair. She couldn’t say that she was surprised by the news, to be honest. When had the Grey Wardens ever offered her a choice where her life was concerned? They kept the Joining a secret; they kept the taint a secret; naturally they’d keep the cost of ending a Blight a secret as well. 

Shuffling through the dank stone halls that would shield her for one final night, Hana felt as if she was already dead. She’d known since joining the Wardens that her life would probably end in some tragic and gruesome way, but she hadn’t expected to experience this bleakness; this  _ emptiness  _ that loomed up in her as that end became clearly visible on the horizon. She also hadn’t expected it to come quite so soon. 

Her knees felt weak as she continued on. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself and found that it shook.

She wasn’t ready. She’d never wanted this. She’d only become a Warden because she’d had nothing more to lose. Her family was gone, her friends were gone, her home was gone, and her title was gone. She’d never  _ wanted  _ to sell away any hope for a life; a future. And since then, she’d found something to lose.

She came face to face with that something as she shouldered open the door to her room and found Leliana seated on the edge of her bed, leaning over a candle on the nightstand. The bard looked up as the Warden came in. 

“Hello there,” she greeted. Her voice was soft and unassuming and Hana dreaded having to tell her what she’d just learned. She didn’t want to break this fragile façade of peace framing her lover in orange candlelight; mocking her with all the beauty she’d never get to experience again. 

“Why aren’t you in bed already?” she asked instead. The words scratched and stuck in her throat. She didn’t want Leliana to leave, but she knew deep down that it would be easier that way: a clean break, no sense of dreadful anticipation fouling the air between them all night. She didn’t want Leliana to see her inevitable devolution into panic and tears. On the other hand, she also didn’t want to spend her final night apart from the woman she loved.

Maker, she didn’t want to die.

“I was hoping you’d come,” Leliana said. Her blue eyes raked over Hana’s haggard face, soft with sympathy; edged with pain. She had no idea how much worse things were going to get. “I thought that if this may be our last tonight together, we should make it count.”

The Warden slumped defeatedly against the doorframe with all her weight. She couldn’t help but feel relieved even as her heart clenched into a sad little fist. “That may be truer than you think,” she sighed miserably. It would be easier to hide the truth, but not better. Leliana deserved that much from her.

“What do you mean?” the bard ventured, brows furrowing in concern.

Hanalea sighed again and rubbed her hand across her eyes. She couldn’t quite stand the intensity of her lover’s gaze right now—which was stupid, considering their remaining time together was slipping away like sand. “I’ve just spoken with Riordan,” she managed gruffly.

Leliana straightened. “And?”

“He had…grim news.”

The air thickened; dragged down the mood in the room till it was nearly crushing. Leliana’s face visibly paled. Still, she asked, “What is it?”

Hana let her hand fall to her side like it was a hundred pounds and drew a long, deep breath. When she exhaled, with it came the truth: “He told us that…to kill an archdemon, it must be a Grey Warden to deal the final blow.” She swallowed, faltered, “and be destroyed along with it.”

Leliana’s reaction happened in stages. First she froze, the remaining color draining from her face, and then a shudder rippled through her like a shockwave. When she took her next breath, it trembled, and so did her hand when she raised it to cover her mouth. She closed her eyes for a long, painful moment. When she opened them again, they shined with moisture. “I cannot say I’m surprised,” she finally said thickly.

“Me neither,” Hana agreed. Truly, it made her heart jerk how closely their thoughts were aligned. And how awful a hand they’d been dealt. She felt her own eyes prickling. “But, Leli, I’m so sorry. I should never have pulled you into this, knowing—”

“Hush,” the bard cut her off with a shake of her head. She reached out one hand and Hana crossed the room to take it like it was instinct. “I would not trade our time together for anything,” she whispered once they were face to face, pulling the Warden to sit beside her on the bed. She kissed scarred knuckles and then pressed them to her cheek. “Even if it must end so soon.”

The gesture had Hanalea struggling to hold back her tears. “I don’t wish to leave you,” she choked out. No matter what Leliana said, she could not assuage the guilt she felt for putting them in this position. Had she never accepted Leliana’s help back in Lothering, had she never taken all those early watches and held all those tender conversations and shared all those warm touches with her, she would have spared her so much pain. There was so much misery to come, and it was all her fault.

But, “I know. I do not blame you,” Leliana assured, always so understanding; always so gentle with her. “Such is the price of being a Warden.”

“I never wanted this,” Hanalea hardly more than sobbed. Leliana released her hand and instead slid soothing fingers into her hair, holding her close to her shoulder as the tears broke past her defenses. The Warden let herself go, crying in her arms. There were worse ways to spend their time together. Not many, but some.

“I believe that all things happen for a reason,” the bard murmured into her ear between feather-light kisses to the skin. “We found each other, didn’t we?” Her voice was so steady. Hana almost laughed through her next sob; Leliana was taking this much better than she was, apparently. Or maybe she was just used to heartbreak. 

Hana gritted her teeth against the emotion that convulsed through her chest cavity. She wrapped firm arms around her lover, sinking into her embrace, and made no plans to let go. Instead of answering directly, she simply replied, “I love you,” through a tight, scratchy throat.

“And I love you. No matter what,” Leliana breathed back, pulling away just enough to press her lips to Hana’s.

It was the first kiss of many that night, among other things. There were more tears than either had intended, but who could blame them? They had never wanted things to end like this. 

…


	10. Chapter 10

It was before the final battle in Denerim that Hanalea approached Leliana, a wrapped bundle clutched between her hands. The bard could tell from the shape and size that it was a sword, but the fact that it was bound in a cloth rather than slung over the Warden’s shoulder was a bad sign. She could guess what was coming. “I want you to take this,” the Fereldan said by way of explanation as she stopped in front of her lover. Her eyes were dark, shadowed, like a storm in the evening. She held out the bundle.

Instead of accepting it, Leliana pulled back the cloth at the top just enough to reveal the hilt of the weapon beneath. Her eyes locked on the insignia on the crossguard: the Cousland laurel crest. “Your old sword?” she asked hoarsely, her fears realized.

“My family heirloom,” Hana affirmed. She shifted from foot to foot, looking like she wasn’t enjoying this any more than Leliana was. Her jaw worked uncertainly before she continued, “I just…I will rest easier knowing it’s in good hands.”

“It belongs in  _ your  _ hands,” Leliana insisted, pushing it back into the Warden’s grip. This was an obvious sign that she was getting her affairs in order, and Leliana did not want to let her. She did not want to accept what it meant. She did not want to just lie down and take it when there was still a  _ chance;  _ still a slim, shining possibility that Riordan would pull through and spare her Warden the fate that had been so cruelly forced onto her.

But, “Leli,” Hanalea begged, knuckles white around the scabbard in her grip, still holding it out to her, “please.”

And Leliana could not tell her no. Not when she looked so broken; so miserable; so absolutely unprepared for what was about to take place. One way or another, they would more than likely die here today. It was the least she could do to ease her Warden's mind before it happened. 

Letting out a ragged sigh, the bard reached out and closed her hands over Hana’s on the weapon. “I will guard it closely,” she promised, because what else could she do?

Instead of replying, the Warden leaned in and kissed her through the tears neither had realized were streaming down their cheeks.

It tasted like goodbye.

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Leliana hold onto the family sword in her second weapon set to save space and she kept using it to fight with? even tho she had zero points in a melee build? I missed something in the behaviors settings


	11. Chapter 11

Against all odds, her Warden returned to her.

She marched down from the ramparts of Fort Drakon battered, bloodied and limping, with her shield nearly split in two and her blade dark with darkspawn blood, but alive. The shrieks of the dying Archdemon were still echoing in the air when Leliana laid eyes on her and her feet began to move without her mind’s direction. She flew across the flagstones, leaping the bodies of fallen darkspawn and weaving between those of remaining comrades as she closed the distance between herself and her other half, awareness blurring around her. As she grew close, the Warden’s eyes halted their scan of the crowd and locked on her face. A glint of white teeth split the dark grime coating her own. Her sword and shield dropped from her grip, forgotten, just in time to free her arms to catch Leliana’s flying embrace. 

“Hanalea,” the bard gasped upon contact, breathless half from exertion and half from sheer giddy relief. “Hana, my love. Thank the Maker.” She clutched tight to the Warden’s shoulders as the warrior spun them around and couldn’t quite stop the laugh that bubbled unexpectedly from her throat. “I can’t believe—I’m so glad you’re all right.”

The Warden yanked off her helmet and let it fall beside her weapon so she could kiss Leliana unhindered, and the archer didn’t even mind the blood and dirt mixed in (she supposed she should worry, since that may well be tainted blood, but that was a problem for later). She hooked her legs round the warrior’s hips and let her support the extra weight as they lost themselves in the overwhelming excitement of being safe and together again.

The only thing that pulled them apart was the sudden realization that all was not well for everyone. The knowledge hit Leliana like a rock to the chest. If Hanalea was alive, that meant—

“Alistair,” she said in dismay upon catching her breath.

Hanalea let out a heavy sigh and let the bard return to her own two feet. It was only then that Leliana noticed the distinctive interruptions in the dirt on her face—tear tracks. With a nod and downcast eyes, the Warden related, “He felt he had to. That it was his duty. He turned down all his chances to make a difference before, with the throne and with—with Morrigan. This was his way to atone. To do something monumental.” Her voice broke on the last word, amid fresh tears. Leliana reached up to wipe them gently away. “I know it had to be one of us, but I thought—” She broke off, shaking her head, but Leliana understood her meaning.

“You thought it would be you,” she finished.

Hana nodded once as if it hurt. “I’m nobody. I’m just some orphaned recruit Duncan scraped out of the ashes of Highever. Alistair was of royal blood. Why should I—” She broke off and sniffed violently to hold back more tears. It didn’t work. “Why should I be the one to make it out alive?”

Leliana took the last Warden’s dirty face in both hands and held her gaze firmly. “This was Alistair’s choice,” she insisted. “It is an awful, awful thing that the choice had to be made at all, but it is not your fault.” Then she softened. “I know you will miss him. All of us will. But for whatever small comfort it is worth, he will be remembered a hero.”

“He deserves it,” Hana said weakly, leaning into her lover’s palm, eyes sliding closed. 

Leliana could hardly stand the storm of mingled grief and relief that tore at her insides. Relief, because she had thought without a doubt that she had lost her Warden forever, yet here she stood, warm and whole. Grief, because this relief should not have cost so high a price. The implications of today’s sacrifice would affect the whole of Ferelden, herself and her companions not least included. Only time would tell whether such changes would be for better or worse.

She pulled Hanalea into her arms again and the two of them stood like an island amidst the carnage of the end of the fifth Blight. Doom had not taken them today, and for now that was enough for her. Whatever came next they would face together. As much as it might hurt now, Leliana knew that she and her Warden would endure—steadfast.

She brought her lips close to her lover’s ear and whispered over the sounds of weary victory around them, “What next, my hero?”

Hanalea sighed deeply and let her brow come to rest against Leliana’s. “I don’t care,” she rasped, then leaned in for a quick, steadying kiss, “as long as it’s with you.”

That, Leliana could manage.

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are two conversation options to turn down Morrigan's offer of the dark ritual and I thought they both meant 'Alistair says no' but apparently the one I picked meant 'Warden says no' so I botched that ending, but...works okay for roleplay ig
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
